


A Small Matter of Miscommunication

by Velerian



Series: Kinkmeme prompts [5]
Category: Elisabeth - Levay/Kunze, Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms, crossover - Fandom
Genre: Crack, Death is confused, Molly becomes buddies with Death, Prompt Fill, Silly crack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-10
Updated: 2013-02-10
Packaged: 2017-11-28 21:27:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/679063
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velerian/pseuds/Velerian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Based off of the prompt:<br/>10) Molly/Death fic. You heard me. Do it Meet Joe Black style or whatever you wish, as long as Death falls for the nervous little mortuary girl, it's bully with me! :3 <br/>http://sherlockbbc-fic.livejournal.com/14213.html?thread=78684037#t78684037</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Small Matter of Miscommunication

Really, she could blame their accidental meeting entirely on Jim from IT, Moriarty. Molly had never been closer to death than in those terrifying hours Sherlock Holmes and Doctor Watson waited for the final pip from that damn pink phone. She had been drugged, locked in a closet and strapped with semtext like the others, a sacrificial lamb on the alter of this dark god, Moriarty.   
  
"I don't leave loose ends, love," he whispered gleefully in her ear. "Sorry!" She had been too far gone to flinch so he had the hulking blonde beside him smack her into action. Her head lolled uselessly. "Oops!" he giggled like a deranged schoolgirl. "Did we give you too much? Maybe we should pick up a doctor to patch her up? OOH, maybe the doctor could take her place?" He turned to his associate, who shrugged. "Yes, that would be perfect," Moriarty cackled. "Toodles, Miss Molly Mouse!" He skipped out of the room, henchman in tow, and Molly was alone.  
  
Every breath was a torment and every movement a struggle. After endless ages of just barely surviving, she was aching for it to just stop.  
  
And it nearly did.  
  
A man was in the room at her weakest hour, blonde and bedecked in an unreal black and blue suit. He watched her with vague interest, catching her chin with a single gloved finger and bringing them face to face.  
  
"Are you afraid?" he asked, examining her like she examines the people on her slab. She would have said no, if she could muster the strength to speak, so she just mouths it instead. He seemed to understand anyway.  
  
"Good. You don't need to be." And he left. Precisely two minutes later, Lestrade, John, and Sherlock came bursting onto the scene, taking her to hospital and saving her life.  
  
After that, once the drugs were out of her system and life seemed to be going back to normal, was when she started noticing him. That man that visited her in her hour of need would just pop up in the morgue, silently and inexplicably.   
  
First it frightened her a little, because he obviously wasn't human and he never really talked to her, just wandered around, invisible to everyone else. It was like he was bored or something. After the shock wore off though, he started bothering her worse than Sherlock.  
  
"What are you doing?" She would nearly jump out of her skin when he popped in, peeking over her shoulder at her latest work.  
  
"Trying to find out how he died," she mumbled, confused and fairly certain she had gone mad and this was just a hallucination.  
  
"His heart was weak," he sniffed. "He should not have tried to run so many miles in one day." He made to wander off, as was his wont, but froze when she took a rotating saw to the middle aged man's chest. "What are you doing now?" he asked horrified.  
  
"Well, you can figure out how he died by looking at him, I have to look inside him to know that for sure," she muttered, hoping against hope that non of her interns decided to wander into the morgue at this time of night.   
  
He may have been scandalized that she was digging through a corpse's chest cavity like it was a piñata, but he didn't leave. He just seemed to get used to it.  
  
Then he got really, really annoying.  
  
He would leave gifts and directions to random dead people for her to "take apart at your leisure, darling," all of them signed _Death_. Eventually, she just banned him from the morgue all together, demanding he stop this gift giving at once or face consequences. She didn't know what the consequences were, but to hell if she would let him know that.   
  
The gifts stopped, but not the morgue visits, or the house visits, or the visits while she was out getting coffee or on a date. It was getting embarrassing, especially when he decided to crash her karaoke birthday party and sing in front of everyone, dedicating it to her. She had been teased mercilessly by all the staff at Bart's for weeks afterwards.   
  
Then it got weird  
  
"Molly?" Death called from across the room. She looked up, only to find they weren't even in the morgue any longer. "Have you ever thought about dying?" he asked innocently, gathering her in his arms and swanning them through what appeared to be the solar system.  
  
"What. Did you just. Where are we?" Instead of answering, he started singing again, and she had very well had enough. "Stop it! Stop that singing!" She snapped "And put me down. I don't want to lose these shoes dangling over the universe like this!" He pouted, putting her down right back in the morgue. "And really Death, I'm covered in bits of exploded liver still from when Sherlock was visiting, why would you want to dance, now??"  
  
He shrugged, "Why wouldn't I want to dance with you?"  
  
Molly had the feeling that this was going to be much worse than dealing with Sherlock from now on.


End file.
